


Victory Tastes Sweet

by RobinBanksAndScoobySnax



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinBanksAndScoobySnax/pseuds/RobinBanksAndScoobySnax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Monza 2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victory Tastes Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again. Feed back and constructive criticism still welcome.  
> And to the person asking about my username ~ it's from a song that was on the radio when I was trying to come up with a username.

Victory tastes sweet. Well, not quite victory, but the first podium of the season, a long awaited podium, tastes as good as any victory Felipe’s had. After a few celebratory drinks with the team, and then a few more, and then a few… Felipe makes his way back to the hotel room. He fumbles with the door key card, trying to get it into the slot before his slightly fuzzy brain acknowledging the fact the door is open. Without thinking, Felipe goes into the hotel room, flicking on the light, and he’s already halfway through trying to pull his shoe off before he notices Lewis sat on the bed.

“Awww, you waited up for me!” Felipe cries, before shushing himself for being so noisy and giggling a little.

“Out celebrating?” Lewis asks, bitterly.

“Just a few drinks,” Felipe says, stumbling as he takes his shoes off.

“You’re pissed,” Lewis says.

“Shush!” Felipe giggles, tossing his shoes aside. He’ll regret that in the morning when he’s searching for them, a tiny part of his brain says. He’ll also regret the last three shots in the morning, so who cares?

“Celebrating like you won or something,” Lewis says, standing, and even Felipe, in his giddy, drunken state, can tell how annoyed he is.

“Awww, do not be like this Lewis,” he says. He slides his fingers between Lewis’, pulling the Brit closer to him and resting his cheek against Lewis’ warm chest. “Have not seen that much red since I left Ferrari,” he says.

“Ah ah!”

“Sorry.”

Some things aren’t to be spoken about in the bedroom. Ferrari is one of a few banned words they have – banned after Felipe’s fourth rant about the team a few years ago. It isn’t that Lewis doesn’t care – he _doesn’t_ , but that isn’t the point – but the rants were a definite mood killer.

“Too drunk to even remember,” Lewis mutters, disgusted.

“Am not drunk,” Felipe complains and, under normal circumstances, the pout on his face would make Lewis laugh, but he’s tired and pissed off and not in the mood for the Brazilian’s giddiness tonight.

“Then what have you been doing?” he asks, pulling away from Felipe and crossing his arms. “Been with Nico?”

Felipe snorts. “Why would I be with Nico?”

“You tell me,” Lewis says. “I saw how you were with him today. Giggling at each other right in front of me. Chatting away in Italian as if I wasn’t even there.”

Felipe frowns, the night’s drinking apparently taking away his memory. Still with his arms folded, stepping back when Felipe takes another stumbled step forward, Lewis watches the cogs click in his brain.

“Ooooh,” Felipe says slowly when the realisation hits. “Oh, Lewis. Were you jealous?”

Trademark cheeky grin on his face, Felipe tries to pull Lewis’ arms away from his chest but Lewis is being stubborn. Undeterred, Felipe slides his hands around Lewis’ waist, pouting again.

“Should not be jealous of him,” he says between kisses, mouthing at Lewis’ jawline.

The Brit tries not to react, his eyes closed. He’s been waiting for Felipe to come up for hours. Waiting like an idiot, thinking maybe they might want to spend one of the few nights they can together. Clearly not. Clearly _some_ people would rather spend that night getting pissed with people he barely knows. There is no way Lewis is going to let him get away with keeping him waiting.

There’s suddenly a warm hand against his cock, and Lewis’ eyes flick open. Felipe looks up at him, trying to look innocent but the sparkle in his eyes gives him away. That and the grin that’s tugging on the corners of his lips.

“What is the matter?”

“I’m annoyed at you,” Lewis says.

“Still?” Felipe asks, sweetly, still gently stroking Lewis’ cock through his jeans. “Are you jealous of Nico and me? What do you think we have been doing all this time?”

He hooks one arm around Lewis’ neck, pulling himself up so he could place his lips against the taller man’s ear. The other hand works Lewis through the fabric.

“What if I took pity on him?” he whispers. “Went to his hotel room to make sure he was ok?”

“Felipe, stop it,” Lewis says, his voice breaking when Felipe’s hand presses harder against his crotch. “Please.”

“And he needed to – how do you say it, Lewis? – let go of some steams, you know?” Felipe continues, slipping his hand beneath Lewis’ pants. Lewis is already half hard and throbbing, which only makes Felipe grin more. He pulls Lewis’ cock free, keeping his pace slow. He has far too much accuracy for someone so drunk. “And he presses his mouth against my neck like this.”

Felipe returns his mouth to Lewis’ neck, littering the sensitive skin there with sloppy kisses and bite marks and things that are somewhere in between. Lewis is still trying to ignore all his instincts. He is _not_ letting him off the hook.

But it isn’t that easy when the Brazilian moves his hand like _that._

“And he is _good_ , Lewis, you know?” Felipe says after making his way back up to Lewis’ ear. “He takes me to his bed and whispers things to me in Italian. Nothing special, but we laugh because _you wouldn’t know_.”

He giggles again and if his hand wasn’t wrapped around Lewis’ cock, he’d have been pushed across the room by now.

“He kisses me, leaves marks all down my chest” Felipe says, drawing a line with his finger down Lewis’ chest with his free hand. “He takes my hand and makes me fuck myself. Imagine it, Lewis. Your little Lipe, getting himself open for Nico. What if he fucked me? Tender and gentle at first but I ask for me and he is _good_ , you know?”

“ _Fuck_ , Lipe,” Lewis’ hisses as Felipe drops to his knees. He looks up, as if for approval, and it always scares Lewis how eager he looks.

Lewis shakes his head.

“No, don’t. Don’t.”

The innocent act drops for a moment and Felipe looks up at him so confused Lewis has to laugh. It comes out as a shaky huff.

“Want to fuck you.”

The light’s back in Felipe’s eyes in less than a second. Lewis pulls him up, tilting the Brazilian’s chin up so he can kiss him. He stops before their lips meet, forcing Felipe onto his toes, but Lewis pulls away.

“You weren’t really with Nico, were you?” he asks.

“I was with Rob and Valtteri, being drunk under the table,” Felipe says, confidently. “Are you going to fuck me or what?”

 


End file.
